Busting Boulanger
by ForsakenKalika
Summary: A dinner party of questionable intent yields interesting results. LM/HG, DM/HP, NB/OC EWE, Post-Hogwarts, rated for language, content.
1. Chapter 1

Oh, hello! Hi! It's been a minute, yeah. So this is just something I'm trying out. The chapters with neither be numerous nor lengthy, only extending to maybe ten at most. Right now, I have this as all one document and it's about 7,000 words without notes. I have maybe another 5,000 planned.

This came as a response to the outcry for more Lumione. While this isn't the sequel to "Making Magic" so many have asked for, it it's a little something for you to chomp at. I don't have immediate plans for aforementioned sequel, but never say never, right?

Hopefully you enjoy. I plan to update every couple of days, as I have much of this prewritten. As always, I take prompts and accept requests, even some odd pairings. If I'm not comfortable writing it, I'll just simply let you know and thank you for considering me as the author to write that idea. Even if I don't decide to write your prompt/request, it's still flattering to be thought of as capable of bringing your vision to you.

Some warnings: m/m pairing, language, adult situations, later smut. If you are underage or otherwise uncomfortable with the content, you should probably leave. I will still love you for giving it a shot.

I don't own a knut of this property. Just playing with the characters.

* * *

It was a humid Saturday morning in April when Draco first saw her, three years after the War.

Setting his empty coffee cup on the corner of his desk, he perused the papers on its surface. The land deed to the Manor, which had lain empty since the weeks following the War, was accompanied by multiple other documents. Appraisals from various antiquities collectors, offers on the Wiltshire property, and marriage contracts his father had sent from their Highbridge estate made up the bulk of his post, the last of which had Draco squeezing the bridge of his nose in consternation. With the Greengrass contract having fallen through, with both himself and Astoria protesting the courtship, the young man had been hoping his father would have eased the chokehold the elder Malfoy had on his son's life. Alas, as Draco had learned, his parents' quiet divorce had inspired his father to only grasp tighter to the possibilities.

'But what about what I want?' With a shake of his blonde locks, Draco cleared the thought away and dropped the papers back down in annoyance. Another headache was forming behind his eyes from lack of sleep and an overabundance of stress, but he hadn't yet been able to restock his cabinet with the correct potions to help.

He glanced at his cup, nearly glaring for the fact that it was empty and he would have to get a new one, perhaps stronger if his impending headache was anything to go by. Sure, he no longer held his prejudices, but Draco still didn't enjoy a few things about the muggle world, one of which was the morning coffee queue.

His morning only proceeded to worsen while waiting in line to order. A bored child had taken to disrupting the other people in line, pushing past everyone multiple times to zoom about looking at the novelty wares. After the third time of being nearly hit in the testicles by flailing adolescent arms, Draco finally straightened his shoulders and decided to say something.

"Miss, your child is quite rambunctious. Would you mind terribly if I let her colour at my table? I'm right here." A voice said near the front. He could swear he knew that voice. The mother seemed to have acquiesced, being able to keep clear sight if her child without further enraging the bespoke lawyers and tempestuous teenagers among them. As he neared the front of the line, he finally got a clear view of the speaker.

"Of course," he muttered to himself, apparently not 'to himself' enough, though. A ball of curly brown hair flew then settled onto dainty, sun kissed shoulders, and the woman made eye contact.

"Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," she snarked to herself, obviously more amused by the random encounter than offended. Raising her head once again to meet his eyes, she sighed, smiling, and nodded. "Malfoy."

Inwardly, he also huffed a breath of annoyance. Outwardly, however, Draco simply greeted her before stepping forward. "Granger." She watched as he intruded upon the transaction with the young mother and her eyebrows raised when he offered to pay. Hermione darted her head back to her book before he could catch her out.

"Eloise, this is Miss Granger." Draco watched, amused, when her head snapped up and she jumped. Hermione cleared her throat and held out a hand.

"Hermione, please. It's lovely to meet you, Eloise. You have a lovely child." More small talk continued between the women, the child in question still frantically colouring away, and Draco took the time to look over his former classmate. She hadn't changed overly much in the three years since their graduation. Her hair was still just as uncontrolled, she still laughed just as boisterously, and she was very much still incredibly short, he realized. Moments later, Eloise excused herself and her child, thanking Draco for the coffee and Hermione for minding her child.

"She was nice," Granger murmured as they walked out the door, lost in thought. He made a noise of agreement, and her whole body started in surprise before she whipped around to face Draco again. He anticipated some biting remark after she looked him up and down, but instead, she simply gave him a short, sharp smile.

"That was also rather nice of you." Hermione leaned a bit closer, giving him a gimlet stare, "Are you feeling okay?" A hand raised to check his forehead. With his head almost throbbing in time with his heartbeat, Draco had moved into the comforting hand before realizing who the appendage was attached to.

"I'm fine, Granger. Just-" dizziness swept over him and he sat heavily in the seat she had quickly pulled out for him.

"Uh-huh," she snarked back. Oddly, the comment combined with the small smile she had on her face while she rifled through her bag made him miss his mum. "What potions do you normally take for your tension migraines? I have the standard headache potion - it's the McCullough brand, Tension Tincture, and something new from Triple W. They're doing testing for something called Bonne Bons, which are, like, wellness treats based on-" Hermione cut off her ramble when he hissed and grabbed her emergency stash.

Dashing around him, she pulled his head back to face the ceiling, instructing him to keep his eyes closed. A tab of something smelling like chamomile was placed against his lips, which he allowed, in too much pain to question the assistance he was being given. Seconds later, he felt her soft fingers begin rubbing what had to be the tincture on his temples, based on the smell eucalyptus wafting around him. The sounds around them slipped away as she massaged the tension from him, moving from his temples to his forehead and back again.

"How long has it been since you last slept, Draco?" she asked gently, and that small part of him that still yearned for his mother when he was ill clamored forward to answer her without hesitation.

"Two days, give or take. It's all this damn paperwork. Father insists on making things difficult for me. I think it's his way of manipulating me," Draco grumbled, breaking off with a sigh when she moved his head to lay limply forward so she could reach his neck.

"Manipulating you to do what?" Anyone else he knew would have already guessed the issue, but of course, he reminded himself, she was a muggleborn. She wouldn't be versed in the ways of pureblood marriages. "Is it because you won't accept any arrangements?" Apparently he was wrong in his assumption.

"Partially," he replied, lifting his head as she finished her ministrations. "Thank you."

Hermione waved it off, sitting back down in her seat. "I used to get them all the time at Hogwarts. We have much better options now, though." She slid a tin over to him emblazoned with the Weasley brand logo. "Keep 'em. Take another one in four hours if your headache starts to come back. So," the young woman before him placed her hand on her chin. "Other than in pain and inconvenienced by hordes of pureblood princesses wanting a piece of the Malfoy pie, how have you been?"

"What happened to the attitude from earlier?" he sipped his coffee and smirked at her. She didn't miss a beat when she gave it right back.

"I'm not typically rude to those in pain, but I can always make another exception like I did in Third Year." Hermione's cheshire grin turned into a real smile only moments after. "But something tells me you need a break from the arseholes of the world. Lord knows I do." Her eyes caught the light when a patron opened the door, changing them from the murky chocolate brown they had been to an array of glittering golden tones. He didn't know what he had been expecting to find in her gaze, but the open friendliness that made a ball loosen somewhere in his chest certainly wasn't it.

She chuckled and moved suddenly, leaning down in her chair and grabbing her bag. Draco realized he had probably been staring at her, not saying a word, and either she was too polite to mention it or she just didn't care. Rather, Granger retrieved her familiar beaded shoulder bag and had started to pack her things into it. Her arm disappeared to her shoulder inside the bag and his ears finally tuned back in to hear her speaking.

"-get out of here. It's a lovely day and all these people probably won't do either of us any favors." Hermione stood then, face turned to his questioningly. "You up for it? My flat's just there." She raised a slim arm, the series of scars on made Draco visibly gulp and eye the witch before him nervously.

He glanced at her quickly, barely meeting her eyes before flicking them away in the direction her dainty index finger was aimed. Draco knew she had caught his reaction, as evidenced by the red which had spread across her cheeks and nose. Hermione cleared her throat, awkwardly bringing her arm down to her side. "Well, uhm," her trainer-clad toe dug into the scuffed floor, ending with a decisive twist. "Shall we, then?"

Draco stood, nodding, and led the way to the door. He wasn't sure what he had agreed to, or why he was even still walking with her, but when she linked their elbows and smiled at him cheerily, the former Slytherin knew it had been the right thing to do.


	2. Chapter 2

Decided to upload chapter 2, as well, just to provide a bit extra. Chapters 3 and 4 are almost complete, then 5 and 6 should be done within the week.

As always, thank you for your support. Warnings have been posted in the first chapter. Heed them or don't.

I own nothing.

* * *

"How is it that muggles have invented all of those amazing things, but they still have shite liquor?" He drawled six months later from their settee. The witch in question audibly snorted from her spot in the kitchen, leaning her head around the jamb and sticking her tongue out.

"It's not the muggles' fault Prince Malfoy has such refined tastes." A faux haughty stare was lodged at him down her nose and held. Grey met sienna until moment later, the witch had gone back to her task, laughing lightly. "Come off it, Draco." She chastised, stepping out from the kitchen quickly, throwing her curly hair into a messy bun as she walked through the room to grab her wand from the desk on the far side. Pointing it vaguely in his direction on her way back, Hermione smirked. "Even your mum admits their Moscato is superior." The 'to yours' was unspoken, but she knew it would bait him perfectly.

"Wine and liquor are not the same, you philistine! Honestly!" He exclaimed to his friend who was once again puttering away in her kitchen. Biting back his trepidation, Draco stood and wandered over to the doorway to lean on the wall next to the entry. "She's asking about you again, by the by. Whatever you have done to my mother needs to be undone, or soon she'll be asking for grandchildren-"

"Does this look alright?" Hermione asked absently while waving her wand in the other direction to control the vegetables. She raised the lid of the cast iron pot and the smell of expertly roasted seasoned chicken invaded his senses.

"That smells delicious," he murmured in reply. She fairly glowed over the compliment and replaced the lid before her sneaky flatmate could steal a bit of skin from the drumstick, smacking his hand when he tried anyway.

"Hands off, greedy. You have to wait! Besides, your mum knows you and I don't have that kind of thing going on." Hermione replaced the dutch oven to finish roasting then dithered by the vegetables, seasoning them with salt and pepper before setting them to roast as well.

"Merlin, no. You're like an annoying big sister, odd as that is to say given our history." Hermione hummed in agreement and held a fork out with the rice for him to sample. "Needs more of something." he answered the question her eyebrows asked. Nodding she turned away to the cutting board nearby and smooshed a few springs of rosemary before adding them.

"I also lack your preferred equipment, which she well knows by now. Dinner should be ready soon. Would you help me lay the table?" Hermione didn't wait for his assent before she plopped cloth wrapped silverware bundles in his hands and another bite of rice into his mouth with a clean fork. He hummed, nodding and breathing around the hot mouthful, making a pretty smile break out on her face. She grabbed up the plates with a thankful nod, walking out.

"Why does my mum adore you so much?" Draco asked finally, following her to place the utensils by the plates she had already finished setting. An impish grin stole across her face and she leaned her elbows against a dining chair, clasping her wand loosely between her entwined fingers.

"I suspect because we are very similar in just the right ways. I love your mum, she is a witch with her head on straight. Intelligent, dignified, yet sassy and driven. She's fantastic! And we have our wittle Dwakey to thank for a proper introduction." Hermione's eyes twinkled at him sending him muttering to himself about the two women gossiping about him. A lazy flourish of her wand had changed the centerpiece from an outdated Asda vase containing chrysanthemums to a lovely semi-opaque emerald glass vase with silver edging and purple crocuses.

Silence dropped between them. Hermione knowing what was coming next and biting her lip in careful thought, raised her eyes to his across the table. "And my father?" Draco's voice was low, the cautious curiosity making his words hesitant, as though his query would somehow frighten her. Send her scurrying away as though she were an adolescent bunny.

The mouth he had hated the sound of in Third Year screwed up into a grimace. Knowing her as he did now, Draco knew she was weighing her words so as to protect their friendship. He only wished Hermione would realize she didn't have to, not with him. 'It truly is a shame,' Draco thought, lamenting their platonic relationship while he celebrated her presence as his friend. It was an odd feeling, to understand that a person can be aesthetically pleasing and possess the absolute perfect personality, yet be the wrong gender for sexual attraction and romance to take root. Luckily for Draco, she had another friend who was the right everything. Now if only he could find the bollocks to tell her.

Deciding to give his best friend some space, Draco moved into the kitchen and began collecting drinking glasses, waving his wand at a pair of simple silver candleholders to levitate them in as well. As he had thought, she seemed ready to try to answer. Lucius Malfoy had been a sore topic of conversation in the past. Over the months they had lived together, though, she had easily seemed to become more receptive to Draco's childhood tales and had eventually extended invitations for meals to both his mother and father. Narcissa accepted immediately, wishing to thank the witch and apologize for their respective roles in the war. In regards to his father, however, none had been accepted, or even returned. Until the most recent, that is.

"Your father is," Hermione began, standing from the chair. She rubbed her arms a bit where they had leaned on the chair back, stalling while she considered her words further. "Your father has made some very difficult decisions for what he saw as the benefit of his family. I cannot fault him for his motivation, it is the means with which I disagree." The petite witch rushed past him and peered at the clock from the open space between the dining room and living room, bounding to the couch when she saw the time to fluff the pillows he had left in disarray.

Taking a breath after gesturing at the couch with an exasperated expression to which he shrugged and grinned, she continued. The man to whom she was speaking was nowhere near paying attention to her. Rather, his focus was on the Floo behind her and the older blonde man who had come through just in time to hear her.


	3. Chapter 3

Oh, hi! Chapter 3. The response to this has been freaking me out so far, in a good way, so keep those faves and follows coming. Short notes this time. Chapter 4 should be out tomorrow, and we'll get to the meat and potatoes of this story... sort of... man, now I'm hungry.

I don't own dis.

* * *

 _Lu,_

 _Stopped at the baker's, may be detained momentarily. Be polite._

 _Cissy_

They had been lucky, he and Cissy. They had been in love when they married. Their son was accomplished and alive, despite the past. Their divorce was amicable, and Gods above if he wasn't blessed to still be able to call his former wife a friend.

She had been a vivacious brunette, her wavy hair piled atop her head, a beauty in her stylish wedding robes and veil. Those petal soft lips he had caressed with his own masculine pair for over twenty years had been painted a deep, seductive berry that day. He recalled how the imagery of her suckling forbidden fruits in the garden had him half-hard before she had even reached the altar.

Lucius remembered how he filled with pride as her hair began to shift in colour, the blonde of his pure line meeting hers, signifying her pregnancy with his heir. Though her pregnancy had been difficult and fraught with problems, Draco was born only one week prematurely. They hadn't been able to conceive again, instead pouring their everything into raising their son.

'Draco wouldn't see it that way,' a traitorous voice whispered in his thoughts, the regrets of the past ten years weighing heavily upon his slumped shoulders. Fingers pinched to the bridge of his nose to stave off the sting behind his eyes, Lucius sniffed a bit and shook his head. Things may have gone poorly with his marriage, but he would be damned if he lost his son after doing the unspeakable to keep him alive to such inanity as preserving his own broken pride.

When his son had announced roughly five months prior he was sharing a flat with the muggleborn witch, the Malfoy patriarch had balked. Where Draco had accused him of blood prejudice, Lucius had returned that he had no issue with her heritage, only that it was improper for a man and woman to live together as such. Surprising even himself, he had meant it.

Then came the next reveal, Draco preferred men. This was less of a surprise, as Lucius had noticed his son making eyes at the family barrister's grandson when he was fifteen, passing it off at the time as healthy sexual curiosity. For all the ways in which their culture could be seen as archaic, the acceptance of same-sex and poly couples was plentiful and positive. With the old families, such marriages were seen as more pure because of the way in which magic worked to bring couples together, who were often described as 'soulmates' of a sort.

From there, his concerns were moot and Draco had moved within the week. It was only after the final box was being carried through the Floo did the feeling of an empty manor set in. Cissy had moved into one of the chateaux the year prior, and though he employed a sizeable number of elves, he found himself alone. No, not alone. Lonely. In the weeks following, regret gnawed at him. Thoughts of all the missed opportunities to express his pride, his love, and his respect for his son ate away at him.

Then owls started arriving. A simple invitation to tea had come first, and he had stared at it for hours before he even opened it, sure that it was for another 'Mr. L. Malfoy, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire'. The next week brought a casual dinner request, and the one after, lunch, all in the same neat, feminine handwriting. When the most recent had arrived, Lucius had had no opportunity to ruminate upon all the reasons he shouldn't attend. Cissy, visiting for tea, had answered for him, and now, there he was, hoping he wouldn't be hexed as soon as he showed up.

With a look into the mirror of his cloak room, the Malfoy Head straightened his shoulders and robes. Narcissa had implored him to be polite, so polite he would be. He could only hope for a warmer welcome than a stunner to the chest.

The first thing Lucius Malfoy saw when entering the flat his son shared with the Granger girl was a rather nicely shaped arse. A warm welcome indeed, as the pert buttocks swayed and bounced in time with its owner's actions. Attached to that lovely specimen of derriere came a voice he well recognized.

"Your father is a smart man, Draco. He knows that what is right is not always easy better than most, making the tough decisions because they were right for your family. I respect him for that, and won't begrudge him his past if he can do the same for mine."

"As you say, Miss Granger."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4! I might actually finish something longer than a one-shot! So things are starting to get more involved, as Lucius has arrived to Chez Slythindor (Draco tried to protest, but then accidentally dropped the name while at the pub with his friends. It's a thing.).

Drop a line and send a thanks to AnimeFreak and dshell for this chapter's early arrival, as well as all the followers and those who've favorited this.

Standard disclaimer applies, and warnings are at the beginning of Chapter 1.

* * *

"As you say, Miss Granger," the elder blonde smirked slightly, amused by her frightened leap into the air. Her hair fluffed around her face when she spun to face him, exploding in a tidal wave of chaos as it broke free from the band. The low thwack off to the side as the errant hair accessory made contact broke the silence, Granger's expressive face belying both her embarrassment and amusement with a blush, wide eyes, and a lip between her teeth to hide her giggle. She ducked her head and began frantically checking the state of her attire for wrinkles still snickering slightly, Lucius' gaze following her hands over her curves.

While the young chit had been a thorn in his somewhat unwilling side, Lucius had to admit she had grown up. 'Maybe not up, per se,' he considered. 'Merlin, she's small.' In reality, she was maybe five-four, but compared to his six-one frame, she seemed miniature. Lucius met his son's eyes briefly, shock evident in the younger man's, and not a small bit of disgust and anger. So Draco had caught him out while he was enjoying the view from the Floo, he mused to himself, making a show of slowly scanning the pretty, curvaceous witch and shooting a roguish grin to his son. Red spots appeared high on Draco's cheeks and his stare hardened.

The elder Malfoy met Hermione's stare when she lifted her head in his periphery, and gently grasped her hand, raising it to his lips with a slight bow. The young woman before him had matured since the war, her cheeks no longer round with the baby fat of youth, eyes wise and mouth supple with sensuality as they spread in a satisfied if shy smile.

'Be polite, indeed,' he thought, watching the flattered flush race over her expressive face. If that was her reaction, Lucius Malfoy would be the paragon of pedigree and class.

If someone, when she had first met him years ago in Flourish and Blotts, had told Hermione Jean Granger that she would one day be on the receiving end of Lucius Malfoy's charm rather than ire, she'd have soundly laughed and proclaimed that person an idiot of the highest order. If that same person had mentioned that she would also swoon, she'd have had them committed. Yet, here she was, nearly twenty-two years of age, experiencing the rush in her gut and warmth twixt her nethers. 'Why do I read period dramas so damn much?' she thought helplessly just before his deep voice vibrated through the digits she hadn't even realized he was holding.

"It is lovely to see you again, Miss Granger," the man before her murmured against her knuckles. Well, wasn't that just a new sensation? Hermione had read many things, had quite the reputation for being in the upper echelons of swottiness, but she had not previously known that the sight and feeling of a well-mannered, attractive (single, hallelujah) man gently running his really fucking soft lips across her digits could be considered erotic.

"Hermione, please." Was that her voice, all… breathy and shit?

'Fuck, was that his tongue?' Her eyes flew to his as thought to confirm the thought, and the smoulder in his look had her biting the inside of her cheek. 'It was, holy fuck.' Somewhere in the forbidden parts of her thoughts, she vaguely wondered what he looked like naked. He was making it no secret that he wondered the same about her. Oh, but wasn't that just terrible? They had been on opposing sides (she had a thing for bad boys, smash the patriarchy to bits, please), he was much older (like a fine wine, or - or cheese, ugh, bad analogy), he literally gave one of her best friends half of his DNA (and makes cute babies, what. the. nope.) and tried to kill the other one (he did say he was sorry, no seriously, what am I doing).

He stepped back slightly brandishing a bottle of wine, because alcohol was exactly the opposite of what this unexpectedly charged situation needed, which she took. Whatever devil had decided to possess her had her hands brushing against his when she pulled the vessel from his grasp, further inspiring her to add a bit more swivel to her hips on her slight trek to the liquor cabinet for a corkscrew.

"Are you even fucking serious right now?" she heard Draco mutter to her as she passed by him to grab the implement, giving her exasperated eyes. On one hand, she could understand his frustration and, frankly, the general ickiness of the situation. She was flirting with his dad, for Godric's sake. That had to be weird, not that she had a problem personally with the thought.  
This brought about the other hand. One, who the hell was Draco to judge her? She remembered that muggle Uni professor he had had a brief fling with two or three months before. Besides, it had been ages since she had had anything non-electrical between her legs, and she would be damned if the Fantastic Flouncing Ferret ruined some harmless flirting for her.

"I will stab you," she said back, just as quietly passing by on her return. They exchanged a dirty look before Hermione plastered a smile on her face and walked up to Lucius, handing him the screw. While he worked, she turned to the blonde across the room who was still glaring to mouth the words 'oh, professor', gaining a two fingered salute and hiding her near fit of laughter behind a polite cough. Her amusement plummeted a moment later when their guest reminded the both of them of the real reason for this party.

"Narcissa should be along shortly. From my understanding, she is bringing a… guest."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5, y'all. This will almost catch you up to where I am, but not quite. I'm writing this faster than I anticipated, maybe because it isn't as involved as the Big One I'm working on.

Here we come to the crux of this evening at Chez Slythindor, but there are always more surprises to come. Always.

Thank you for all the support! 35 people have followed this so far, so that means 35 of you are at least looking for some Lumione love, or enjoy a Drarry mention (which they will eventually get their own bit in this).

Standard disclaimer and the warnings in the first chapter apply

* * *

"Narcissa should be along shortly. From my understanding, she is bringing a… guest." Oh, hell. Narcissa. Her friendship with the woman was invaluable and here Hermione was ogling her ex-husband. Actually, now that she considered it, Cissy had been very clear that she and Lucius were simply the dearest of friends these days. According to Cissy, their romantic love had died with the resurrection of the Dark Lord of God Complexes.

Even judging by his reaction, Lucius was nowhere near jealous. He did seem less than enthusiastic about the attendance of said guest, but so were she and Draco, if they were being honest. Neither of them liked or even trusted one Monsieur Henri Boulanger.

Right.

If he was French, Ronald Weasley was to be the next Minister and the Goblins would declare a bank holiday.

Hermione shared a look with Draco, who was still petulant, but calming down. Gazing back at Lucius, there was a tension in his jaw. No, he did not like the man who had weaseled his way into Narcissa Black's life.

"I'm not one for mindless conjecture, but you can't stand him either, can you, Mr. Malfoy?" She asked, obviously not enjoying the idea of gossiping, but feeling concerned for the woman who had become a close friend to her. She gestured to the seating, choosing to take the overstuffed wingback by the muggle turntable she had charmed while the two men simply sat on the settee. It wasn't the least bit petty or annoying when Draco made it a point to ruffle the throw she had laid just so over the back.

Nor was the wandless nonverbal spell she used to raise one spring in his cushion to always poke him soundly in his poncey arse no matter how he rearranged himself.

"Lucius, my dear." He smiled at the way her pretty face reddened while she nodded. Draco shifted restlessly beside him. "And no, I am not fond of this Mr. Boulanger." All three shared a look of joint disgust thinking of the man, and Lucius shook his head. "Of course, I've expressed my concerns to Narcissa, but I doubt they were heeded."

"I felt the same after I said something, as well," Draco chimed in next to Lucius, moving around a bit before he settled in his spot again. "She deflected, didn't she? Acted like you had simply mentioned unfavourable weather?" His father nodded and Draco looked to Hermione who sat watching them, sipping her glass. "What about you? Didn't you have tea two days ago?"

Her auburn and wheat curls bounced as she nodded. "Same result. I think she knows something about him, though. This dinner was essentially her idea, remember Draco?" He nodded in response, recalling the way in which his mother had basically tricked him into a dinner party at lunch two weeks before. "Who was the first to bring up Boulanger?"

The two men conversed briefly, the elder finally nodding at the witch. "I was, at brunch two weeks ago," he replied, curiosity clear as he wondered where the Gryffindor witch was going with the conversation.

"Okay, so Lucius was the first to express concern. She dismissed yours easily enough, at first, but then Draco said something over lunch, which is where the idea of us all getting together also started." Her finger tapped her chin in thought. "Then, well, me. She knows we all suspect the man, so she's bringing him to face all four of us?" Hermione shook her head, lips slowly spreading in a dark grin that made ignited the low heat of arousal in Lucius' gut. He made no attempt to hide his feelings from the young woman who was staring back just as openly, running her tongue along her full bottom lip before it sunk between her teeth.

"It's a set up," his son exclaimed suddenly, shifting in his seat again and breaking Lucius' admiration of the nymph in the overstuffed chair. Draco met his eye in silent question, Lucius raising a blonde brow in reply. Across from them, Hermione stood with a sigh, heading into the kitchen to set the food under warming charms. Neither had broken their stare, both making similar noises of acknowledgement when she announced to the room she would return.

"What are you doing?" Draco hissed to his father. "You were- no! And you hated- you tried to- and I know you've been lonely, but- my father! - she's my best friend! You can't have her." The boy proceeded to illustrate his maturity by crossing his arms and glowering. He huffed against the back of the settee, setting his jaw, the effect of which was ruined by his increasing wiggling.

The senior Malfoy calmly but quietly asked one thing before his progeny hastened away. "I doubt she shares your concerns, judging by your discomfort. Further, does she know you're shagging hers?"

Tickled chuckling followed Draco as he nearly ran to the safety of the Gryffindor witch in the kitchen.


	6. Chapter 6

Hola! Chapter 6 all sorts of live for you. That said, gimme a few days to get the next *reads what I have written* 3 chapters done, and I will update again, probably in rapid succession. The love is, as always, appreciated.

If you like that this has been updated, thank Vanime, without whom this Lumione wouldn't exist. No, I'm serious. Vanime was a huge supporter when Making Magic came out, and I just couldn't stop thinking about doing another one after that. So thank you.

This story had a completely different premise when I started writing it, though it was always going to be Lucius and Hermione. If you're ever interested in what it was intended to be, drop me a line, I'm always happy to share. Same goes for prompts or requests, and general questions/comments. My email is listed in my profile and I always accept PMs.

Standard disclaimers apply, warnings in chapter 1

* * *

"Hey," Hermione shot her flatmate a smile as he speed-walked into the kitchen. "You okay?" Draco was normally fairly serious, but the expression on his face seemed more disturbed than anything. 'Probably should stop messing with him about his father,' Hermione considered, pulling the poultry from the oven. As she worked a charm over the chicken to keep it warm yet moist, she watched her bully-turned-best friend. She hadn't seen a look like that since Sixth Year.

"What's up?" He refused to make direct eye contact, shaking his head, and slugged the glass of Sake Mizu he had poured himself while she wasn't watching. This went much further than just her harmless flirtation if he was bringing out the rice wine he had picked up in the Wizarding district of Tokyo. Hermione pressed her lips together, looking away toward the clock on the stove, and decided to take a chance. "So… which one?"

"Which one what?" came his mumbled reply over the rim of his tumbler.

Hermione rolled her eyes and stomped the entire three steps it took to cross their kitchen. "Okay, a couple of things. Number one," her nimble fingers plucked the drink from her taller counterpart's hand, gulping the rest in one sip before setting it on the counter beside them. "No one drinks room temperature sake from a tumbler. That's crass. Number two, to answer your question to my question with yet another question, are you sulking about your father or about Harry?"

Hermione leaned her hip against the nearby surface, a delighted smile drawing her lips wider when Draco jolted, mouth open yet making no sound. A guffaw finally bubbled forth and her hand smacked over her mouth before it could be set free.

"I'm not sulking," his lips pulled themselves into a pout, completely ruining his proclamation. "And even if I were, which I'm not, why would it be about Potter?" Arms folded defensively over his chest, but in his flinty stare, Hermione could see trepidation and what looked like fear and doubt. She knew he realized his own transparency and was not the least bit surprised when he attempted to change the subject. "What is with you and my father, anyway? He's my father, Hermione. That's my dad!"

His friend nodded, dropping her head a bit to consider her next words, rubbing her forehead with thought. "Your mum, actually. She's been putting ideas into my head, I think. Every time we've met recently, all she's spoken of is- no. No. This is not about me." Her head raised quickly and she glared at him. "Draco, have I ever said anything against anyone you've spent time with?"

The man in question shook his head, opening his mouth to protest, only to be cut off by her hand. "No, I haven't. You don't get to do it to me, either. I get that it's weird to you, it's strange to me as well considering the past, but you don't get to make my choices for me. I would never do that to you." Seeing he was coaxed from his upset at least a bit, she went on.

"Draco," she sighed. "About Harry. I know you've been seeing each other for the last month." Her tone was gentle, understanding, but it did nothing to ease his anxiety, it seemed.

"But how-"

"I'm not blind. You've had a thing for him for ages, and he, well… I think now that he can just live his life and be Harry, he finally knows he can be his true self. I've always supported him, and now that you're also in my life, I will support you, too. You're family."

The boy who once wished her dead, who had watched her tortured on his floor teared up slightly. "I've been so worried about what you would say. Harry said that it would be fine, but you're one of the few who still even talks to me or treats me-" he broke off with a shuddering breath. "I should've known. And you're right. Weird as it is, if you and my f-" Draco broke off, swallowing what looked like a gag. "Father hit it off, it's not my business. Just one question, though, how did you know?"

She reached over, patting his cheek. "It's called a silencing charm, dearest." She started past him, stopping to whisper into his ear, "I bet your dad knows a few," At his answering groan, she laughed loudly and left the room, hearing the Floo in the next room.

Harry himself was just stepping through the Floo when she walked back in and immediately over to kiss his cheek. "Harry! Draco and I were just discussing you!" Her smile turned cunning and Harry's emerald green eyes widened. Hermione turned then, gesturing to the wizard standing from the settee nearby. "You, of course, know Lucius."

The aristocratic man held out a large hand to his son's apparent flame, if the blush and startled look on Potter's face were anything to go by. "Mr. Potter, I am pleased to see you under better circumstances." The two men shook hands, Harry a bit more warily for obvious reasons.

"Harry, Draco's in the kitchen, probably drinking half the sake, if you want to go whisper about how you've been set-up and caught out." She was shooing him out of the room a moment later.

"You would have done well in Slytherin, my dear," a deep voice said from directly behind her. Shivers crawled up her spine, moist warmth blossoming in the juncture of her thighs. She felt him as he stepped closer, the difference in size and the broadness of his body just barely pressed against her back, overpowering yet secure. Before she could lean back into him or even formulate a reply, his ex-wife and her new beau were stepping through the Floo.


	7. Chapter 7

We're gonna time-travel today, so hold onto your butts. This thing has grown beyond what I anticipated, so if you're wondering how many more chapters we have until the end, uhh... we have quite a few. So far, I have up to chapter 12 outlined and/or partially written, and it isn't done yet. As I'm writing this in one continuous document, it's no wonder it grew.

Thank you for all the support. Hopefully dshell99 doesn't ground me again, but she might. She just might.

Standard dislaimers apply, warnings in chapter 1.

* * *

 **18 Months Prior**

"Ms. Black," the voice was still the same, warm honey with a backbone, though Narcissa had never personally spoken to Hermione exactly. She did, however, recall hearing the woman speak at various charity functions most recently and before that, sporadically in the street or store during school shopping or in various school happenings.

 _"Bombarda Maxima!" Narcissa cried, pointing her Cumaru wand, the wood reverberating a near groan as it worked to allow the magic through. The spell hit the tree to the left of the Death Eater nearby, his wand pointed at one Hermione Granger. The tree seemed to swell for a moment, Narcissa's wand deciding its witch's intentions were in line with its own will; to protect, to defend, to survive._

 _A half second later, the tree exploded in a hail of violent splinters, two or three large enough to impale the Death Eater before a syllable could leave his lips. The strays bounced harmlessly off a hastily made Protego the girl had erected. Ice blue met honey gold as the two women made eye contact and the body of the Death Eater- 'McNair,' she recalled idly, slightly dazed from the sheer power needed to keep up in this battle- fell to the side, dead. Hermione's wand raised and Narcissa flinched, eyes shut tight._

 _"Crucio!" Narcissa understood then that, no matter what, some grudges ran too deep. A tear fell down her dirtied cheek, only to be swept away as the Unforgivable flew past. If she concentrated, she could feel the heat of the intent needed to fuel the spell._

 _"You have to really mean it," her sister had cackled time and again to her son. Miss Granger really meant this._

 _"This is for Lavender!"_

 _Another thud of a body resounded dully behind her, her clenched eyes snapping open. Blonde hair joined her wild brunette, hair pins flying loose with the force in which the Malfoy matriarch's head spun to regard the twitching body of Fenrir Greyback just paces away. The werewolf's back arched in pain once more then was overcome by the sickly green of an Avada. A cooling sensation washed over her charred right arm, and whispered sing song chanting followed. Fatigue soon followed, black spots dancing in her vision. The muggleborn witch's voice filled her ears, stronger this time, relief washing over her soul at the soothing tone._

 _"Rest now, Mrs. Malfoy." The last thing she remembered was the squeeze of apparition before everything turned black. "Draco is safe."_

"Miss Granger," Narcissa greeted the young woman with a polite half hug, lightly kissing both cheeks, stepping into her office and closing the door. "Thank you for taking the time to see me today." Hermione, doing her best to hide her confusion at the informal, downright friendly greeting the former Malfoy had extended, gestured to a comfortable yet professional chair before her desk, inviting her guest to sit.

"Think nothing of it, Ms. Black," Hermione replied, smiling politely, curiously. "Would you care for tea?" She waved a hand toward the service tray on the desk. Small tins of loose leaf tea sat alongside three porcelain dishes containing, Narcissa guessed, sugar, milk, and honey.

"Earl grey is just fine, thank you," she replied genially, pulling her gloves off and setting them aside. Watching the girl make tea was oddly enchanting. The parents Granger must have taught their daughter the proper manner in which to serve tea, which spoke of good breeding. Further observation revealed her precise posture, the rod straight back of etiquette classes making itself obvious. Internally, she cringed with sympathy. Those classes were horrible.

Granger was almost disarming with her general size and bone structure, making her seem delicate. They both knew that was a lie, if the events in that godsforsaken drawing room were any measure of how fierce the Golden Princess really was. Narcissa wondered in the back of her mind whether or not the young woman enjoyed dancing. She had a ballet form, if a bit curvier, and yet Narcissa could easily picture Hermione twirling through the Wizard's Reel or spinning ribbons at Beltane.

She had elegant fingers, and deftly measured tea into a ball to steep. "How have you been?" There was no wheedling in the girl's voice, no underlying desire or intention. Just an innocuous question to fill the space between them. It had an odd effect, loosening the knot of tension Cissy held which had otherwise gone unnoticed until it was suddenly no more.

"It's been a long day, and it's only eleven," Narcissa sighed back, accepting her tea with a nod. She leaned forward to add a splash of milk. "Lucius is throwing a fit that I don't want more from our divorce agreement, and absolutely hates the fact that Draco won't accept any of the courtship proposals he's set up so far."

If Narcissa's uncharacteristic honesty took her by surprise, the witch seated at the desk didn't show it. Instead, she sipped her tea, nodding thoughtfully. "You'd think a man would be happy his ex-wife doesn't try to take him for everything, really. You heard about the Selwyn affair." The witches shared a loaded look. Aletheia Fawley, formerly Selwyn, divorced her husband most recently in the tidal wave of high profile splits, the gains of which were the subject of many an afternoon tea.

A beat passed. "Mr. Malfoy does realize Draco is gay, right?" Silence fell between them, Hermione looking both chagrined and horrified. It couldn't be helped, then, when Narcissa giggled into her teacup.

"I think he knows, but he doesn't know. Gods help any single wizards once he finally tells Lucius. He's almost as bad as Nana Rosier with his meddling. I suspect he's a bit lonely, really."

Hermione nodded, sipping her tea. "My parents separated when I was fourteen, but didn't officially divorce until I was sixteen. I remember my father was fine, but my mum…" she trailed off, searching for her words. "They're best friends- always have been- but after they split up, mum seemed to lose a bit of herself. Like she felt less somehow."

Narcissa nodded and this time, when the silence stretched between them, it wasn't awkward. She took the time to look around the office, now just noticing all the personal touches. An oblong leather ball sat near a framed picture of Miss Granger and an older gentleman with similar features in a uniform. Having been to Andromeda's, she wasn't as unnerved when the photograph didn't move, but stared nonetheless.

"Is that your father?" She gestured, Hermione's gaze following her hand.

"Mmhmm. He's a dentist by trade - a tooth healer - but he enjoys sports in his time off. My mum is in the photo on the next shelf down." Sure enough, a woman not dissimilar to Hermione herself sat smiling politely while her daughter kissed her cheek, a birthday cake with candles lit before her. Warm prickles began behind Narcissa's eyes and she looked away.

"You look so much alike," she commented instead, covertly wiping the corner of her eye. "So I have to ask, did she find herself again?"

A tiny smile lifted one side of Hermione's face while she stared at the photo. "She's starting to, and that's what matters."

Narcissa smiled at the reply, and sipped her tea. 'Miss Granger will do quite nicely.'


	8. Chapter 8

Alrighty then! Had to break this one up a bit. Originally, this whole sequence was going to take one chapter. Instead, it's being broken up into two or three. Narcissa was giving me hell and I was sucked into a bunch of story updates (I'm a reader, as well).

A bit of warning, getting a little religious this chapter, for reasons. I want to make it clear that these are the character's views and not my own. For this, we will see how someone from the Wizarding world, quasi-disgraced pureblood, views and interprets muggle faith and how that interplays with the situation. I didn't use a specific religion or sect of Christianity, it sort of a general message. No disrespect is intended. I was Methodist as a child before my mum converted us to Roman Catholic when I was in high school, but I myself am more of a universally spiritual Pagan.

Thank you for all the support!

UPDATE 6/27/2018: Guess who got a laptop and doesn't have to type on her phone anymore? My thumbs are now reserved for pointing to myself when asking rhetorical questions, woo! So you might be asking, Forsakenkalika, why are you uploading this chapter again? Simple, dear readers. I had a horrible issue with plotholes, so I went back and updated/edited a few things. This chapter is really the only one with a whole section added to it. I AM working on this, and now that I've fixed some errors and can use more than my poor arthritic thumbs to type, thing should go more smoothly. I have the next chapter halfway done, and a few later ones. Now I just gotta get from Point A to Point B.

Standard disclaimers apply, warnings in chapter one.

* * *

 **Two Weeks Before Dinner**

 **Weekly Sunday Brunch - Château de Rois**

"I particularly enjoy how you've opened this space up, Cissy. One would never know Grand-père Archenhaud had ever lived here. Remember how arrière grand-mère used to insist-" Lucius cut off at Narcissa's laughter behind her teacup.

"'Zee ambiance eet eez how you say plein de merde.'" Narcissa chuckled out in an eerily similar affectation of the former Madame Malfoi, who, like her, disliked intensely the manner in which later generations of children and grandchildren had employed in order to amass wealth and decorate the estate. The late Noémie Malfoi had a distinct distaste for nefarious dealings and bloodied hands, both in which the aforementioned Archenhaud had excelled. If only he had been as equally matched in discretion or common sense, then the French branch of Malfoi may have ownership. Instead, Noémie had willed it to Abraxas, of the British side, who then willed it to Lucius. Now, it was Narcissa's to do with as she pleased, and she couldn't help but think arrière grand-mère Noémie might have almost planned for it. She always had possessed a soft spot for the Black witch even before Narcissa and Lucius' nuptials.

Wandering through the salon and finally to the smaller dining room intended for small family meals, she showed Lucius the rest of the renovations. Hopefully Noémie approved wherever she was in the afterlife, Heaven or otherwise. They settled down to a light spread set out by one of the serving staff, making small talk, but she knew her ex-husband had something on his mind. He had that vaguely pinched look and she knew it wasn't indigestion as they hadn't even eaten yet.

"Are you unwell, Lu?" the former Mrs. Malfoy asked concerned. "You look a bit… ill." She sipped her tea only to choke a moment later.

"Just wondering what your Mr. Boulanger thinks of your hard work here and for the… société pour la préservation de la magie - did I get that right?" He watched her with steel grey eyes carefully, noting the slight flush working up from her neck and the dotting of perspiration at her hairline. Nary a moment later, she waved a hand through the air as though banishing a foul odor or idea and smiled as winningly as she could. 'She's still a horrible liar,' he thought, and she hadn't even said a word yet.

"Henri? Oh, you know how busy someone of his station is. He rather enjoyed the updated observatory in the South Wing, and the - oh! You recall those horrendous mistress quarters in the West Wing guest quarters? I finally had the Brown Room redone." He could see she was trying to distract him, which only served to worry him more. He had seen Cissy at her best and he had caused her to be at her worst. The evasive, falsely happy person who sat before him, though, he didn't recognize. What was she hiding and what did it have to do with Henri Boulanger?

 **One Week Before Dinner**

 **Weekly Sunday Brunch - Malfoy Manor**

With a barely audible creak, the massive gates opened, permitting her into what used to be her home. Narcissa stepped through purposefully, idly watching the gates close behind her, hating the sound they made as they closed. She turned decisively and began her hike, her heels clicked up the long walk toward the massive front entrance of the manor. The day was balmy and full of sun, a slight refreshing breeze working the air just so. It the type of Sunday some of her muggle friends enjoyed as perfect church days, the witch assuming the conditions carried their praises as the moon cycles affected aconite. She'd had to agree that morning, if out of curiosity and the tiny thread of need for whatever absolution she could find, and had joined them at service. Narcissa figured, if anyone was sure forgive her for what she was going to do, it was likely to be a God she didn't know.

 _"He will forgive, as John has affirmed when he said, 'If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.'" The holy man met Narcissa's stunned wet eyes. "He will forgive."_

Physically waving a hand in front of her to banish the thoughts of God and man and the sins of the father (or in her case, the mother). Especially here, on this land, where Dark magic still lingered and had a tendency to attach itself to negativity, such thoughts were dangerous. She slapped her cheeks lightly, painting a smile on before once again beginning her determined walk to the door. Another perfect breeze kicked up around her, cooling her thoughts with scent and sensation.

'That's new,' she noted distractedly, stopping a half step later to regard what had gotten her attention in the first place. Where before, the front lawn of the estate had been a sprawling section of grass and small bits of shrubbery, there were gardens. The shrubbery remained, but little slate footpaths wove between them leading into a veritable utopia of botanical varietals. 'What in the world…?'

Narcissa turned around, remembering the peacocks which had typically roamed freely on this side of the walk. Those blasted beasts still waddled, the phantom pain of one too many nips to the backside making her left buttock twitch, but there were trees. Actual trees! She had been trying for years to get Lucius to agree to more beautification regarding the grounds.

Her gut fluttered and dropped. She could only hope he hadn't done this for her. A part of her knew that they would always have love for one another, but sometimes, she worried he actually loved her. Lucius had always been difficult to read, especially when emotions were involved. If that was the case, however, she didn't know if she had the courage to carry out her task.

She took a breath to steady herself, inhaling the sweet scent of wisteria.

 _'Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.'_

She would not be afraid. Turning her gaze back to the door only yards away, Narcissa felt her troubled heart ease a bit. Indeed, while the visage of the muggle God seemed a bit like Merlin, the wisdom and message brought her peace. More relaxed now, surrounded by beauty and the warmth of the sun, she resumed her walk to the door, slower now to enjoy the alterations around her.

No sooner than her heel had hit the stone of the top step, the door opened and a voice rang out. "Miss Cissa is arrived! Come in, Miss Cissa, come in!" A genial young house elf stood holding the door for her, the elf's uniform pressed and clean. "I am being called Mathilda."

She bowed then, offering to take Narcissa's cloak. "Thank you, Mathilda. If I may be so bold, how long have been employed here?" Narcissa was under the impression Lucius had freed all the Malfoy elves.

"It is being fine, Miss Cissa. Mathilda was being hired by Mister Draco to work for Master Lucius," the elf thought for a moment, hanging Narcissa's cloak carefully in the foyer alcove, smiling lightly to herself. "Four moons now, Mathilda believes. It is being good so far. Mathilda is happy. Though..." She grinned at Narcissa then, the conspiratorial grin of girlish delight. "Master Lucius is wanting Mathilda to be taking days off. Mathilda is being sneaky and works anyway."

The witch laughed, her loose brunette hair bouncing around her shoulders. "And why is that, Mathilda, if I may ask?" Mathilda laughed back and nodded.

"When witches and wizards are having days off, they is being free to do anything, yes?" Narcissa nodded in reply, the corner of her lip starting to turn upward. "Mathilda is thinking it is being the same for free elves. We is being able to do anything, and we is enjoying working. So, Mathilda is doing little workings." She ushered Narcissa to what used to be a den of sorts, very manly and austere, now converted into an open and airy tea room.

The walls had been converted from the dark stained wood and marble floors to cream paint and natural redwood. French doors in the middle of the far wall were anchored on each side by two curved nooks, glass extending from the original exterior wall to the floor showing the original gardens of the manor in all their splendor. One was nearly overrun with flowers dotting around a garden settee, the other contained her ex-husband standing by a matching table and chairs.

"Master Lucius, Miss Cissa for you." The elf announced to the wizard who was just setting out finger foods from a small serving table nearby. To Narcissa's eyes, he looked better than he had in years, his face finally having filled in from the stresses of the w- 'Last few years,' she amended to herself. He was dressed casually yet fashionably in relaxed trousers and a modern button-down, his robes lain over the back of one cushioned chair.

"Thank you, Mathilda. Are you enjoying your day off?" This wizard inquired of the elf, the only emotion on his face a barely visible crease on one side of his mouth where he hid a smirk. His eyes glinted at Narcissa, and she raised a fist to her mouth, stifling a laugh.

Mathilda nodded emphatically, the tips of her ears flopping to and fro. "Mathilda is being relaxed with knitting, Master Lucius. A very nice day off. Is Master Lucius needing anything of Mathilda?" The little elf winked plain as day to Narcissa, who had to feign a cough to contain herself.

"No, thank you, Mathilda. Enjoy your day. Perhaps we could dine in the kitchens tonight?" He smiled at the elf, who was nearly vibrating with joy.

"Mathilda will be seeing Master promptly at seven, then. Good day, Master Lucius. Miss Cissa," she nodded to the former Malfoy witch and was gone in an instant. Narcissa turned back to Lucius. A beat passed and she could no longer hold back the laughter, snorting loudly. Lucius followed suit and within moments, both had nearly doubled over, Narcissa holding her side as it had gained a stitch and Lucius clutching his middle in one hand, the other white knuckled on the table.

When they had finally calmed some, having dissolved yet again into giggles once before, she walked to the table to greet him. "She's fantastic, Lucius." The kissed each other's cheeks, grasping hands, and Narcissa's mind went back to the gardens outside. He didn't seem like he had some deep, unfettered love for her, his greeting no more or less respectful of their relationship. After his line of questioning the week before, she had almost been convinced he was still - No. Lucius was simply being friendly and asking after her welfare.

The divorce had gone well the year before, she thought. He had still been upset that she refused to take more from him, but he always did have issues with his worth, as though the depth of his apology could only be solidified with the vast amount of stuff he could foist upon her. Narcissa hadn't wanted the lodge in Eastern Canada, nor had she wanted the Mediterranean villa. She had settled for accepting a sum of galleons which was rather large even by her standards, a monthly stipend, and two homes; one in France and the other in England, a townhome on a side street in Diagon Alley where she was living currently while the more intensive renovations at the château were underway. All Narcissa really wanted was the divorce itself and something no paperwork could provide. She wanted Lucius to be happy, to be his own man, to love and be loved. She wanted her best friend back, not the shell of a husband he had become.

 _"And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also."_

Everyone deserved second chances. She "tuned" back into what Lucius was saying, as her muggle friends would say.

"- a blessing in disguise, really. Draco hired her just before the renovations began." He pulled her chair out for her, tucking her slightly but comfortably under the table. Narcissa nodded back, uttering a noncommittal noise and looking around once again.

"Wasn't this-"

"Grandfather's hunting room, yes. I remember it always being so dark and drab, and decided, what could be more opposing than a floral-themed receiving room?" Seeing Lucius' face crinkle in amusement unrestrained was something Narcissa wasn't certain she had experienced since Draco was a young boy, even if it was just for a moment before it melted back into his usual blank façade. She had missed it, she realised, seeing him happy. It stung a bit to know she wasn't the reason, regardless of her lack of romantic feelings for her former spouse.

"So you decided to keep the manor," she declared, rather than asked. It had been tentatively on the market since their separation period before the divorce. No one had wanted the property, or the land, after it had been made public knowledge the deceased Dark Lord had taken residence there during the war. "You never mentioned last week."

"Mm, yes," Lucius replied, rubbing his lip in thought. He was perplexed by something, only ever running his knuckle over his bottom lip when he was trying to put together pieces of a very intriguing puzzle. "Draco, truth be told, is the reason for that. He advertised some of the rear acreage to the local muggle village as farmland. I suspect it was that Granger girl, really."

Narcissa's reply was cut off by a particularly well-timed owl fluttering through the open window bearing a familiar invitation. Hermione's familiar tawny owl had delivered her own invitation the night before.

 _"But when the Helper comes, whom I will send to you from the Father, the Spirit of truth, who proceeds from the Father, he will bear witness about me."_

'Mysterious ways, indeed,' thought Narcissa, carefully watching Lucius for his reaction to the dinner invitation. As expected, the line between his brows showed itself. Oddly, though, there was a slight smile playing at his lips, his eyes roving over the thick parchment once more before setting it aside. If she didn't know better, he seemed amused.

This time it was Lucius who was interrupted, as Mathilda popped into the room to inform him of a Floo call. When he excused himself, Narcissa seized her chance. While she had initially only intended to ask him to attend using the excuse of lending their son support, preparing to fight him on the subject, his reaction to the feminine handwriting inside the parchment changed her mind.

'Forgive me, Lucius. This is for your own good,' she thought, taking a quill in hand.

 _"Love comes in many forms, not simply romantic," the man in the pulpit reiterated. He cast his eye over the many people contained in the church, smiling at some, nodding at others. Families clutched each other a little tighter, friends patted backs, and one muggle even smiled and nodded in her direction. Narcissa grinned back, nodding. "In every form, we should seek to love honestly and perfectly, with a humble heart and understanding mind. We should be proactive in our love, supportive yet sound. Now, my friends, perfect love is not always easy, even brothers disagree, but the best relationships with others are forged from how we overcome together. Today, John taught us about courage, forgiveness, repentance, humility, and awareness, all of which culminate into the scripture with which I will leave you to enjoy your day. 'There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.' Peace be with all of you."_


	9. Chapter 9

*throws chapter at you*

Since I started writing this, I have started, like, 10 other stories. That said, consider any and all stories on a sporadic update status until completion. This one in particular only has a few left, so hopefully you enjoy a short, transitional chapter before we rejoin the dinner party.

Thanks for all the love.

I own nothing.

* * *

 _Roughly Two Weeks Before Dinner - Wednesday_

 _Divine Delicatessen, corner of Loc Alley and Visu Alley Market Districts_

"Have you tried the Rejuvenative Reuben?" Narcissa turned to the man next to her. Draco's eyes immediately turned to the sandwich listing on the menu board, thinking.

"I believe so. I think you'd really enjoy the Chilled Out Chicken Club more, though." He gestured to the sandwich listing and Narcissa read the list of ingredients. It seemed her son knew her quite well, which brought a slight smile to her face. She so loved these little moments.

"I believe you're right, darling," she replied, and they stepped up to the counter to place their orders. Minutes later, mother and son were seated, enjoying their meals and making small talk. Draco hated small talk. He hated angering his mother more, but his concern for her outweighed his feelings about the temperament of the former Mrs. Malfoy.

"How have you been, mother?' He asked politely, cringing at his own lack of subterfuge. Her ice blue eyes narrowed in suspicion at her son, berry coloured lips pursing.

"I've been well," Narcissa replied slowly. "We received the support of the Portuguese branch of our Witches' Auxiliary not long ago, Sophie flooed this morning with the good news." As she spoke, Narcissa watched her pride and joy valiantly attempt to reign in his disinterest. 'Obviously,' she thought, 'he had something else he would rather have asked.'

"Oh! That reminds me!" Pressing a hand atop Draco's, Narcissa smiled, "When were you going to tell me about him?" As girls, the Black daughters had been raised to be above veiled speech and misdirection as conversational tactics. As young women, Narcissa, like her sisters, had realized there was an addendum; unless one is _good_ at it. She took an almost unholy amount of glee at Draco's slightly wider eyes, the grey overpowering the black of his irises. It took all her willpower not to snort inelegantly while he fought the urge to gulp deeply.

He cleared his throat, seeming to find the nerve to ask, "Him?"

"Your father, darling. The Manor renovations?" Narcissa's amusement was in danger of starting to show. When Draco's shoulders visibly sagged, she went in for the kill. "But since we're on the subject, how is Mr. Potter?"

* * *

Narcissa swayed through the green flames of her private floo with a smirk.

"Have fun with your boy?" The deep tones of his voice lilting upward in his innocent query had her guffawing long and loudly, the sound echoing through her wing of the chateau. She collapsed on one knee holding her stomach, free hand slapping the floor and sending the envelope she had been carrying gliding across the floor to his feet.

He flicked an ebony curl from his eyes, the oceanic orbs flashing in irritated amusement. Picking up his tea, he grumbled, "Very ladylike, Cissy," evoking a reprisal from the woman now rolling on the floor of her receiving room in her Versace pantsuit.

Sliding an elegant finger under the flap, he opened the envelope and pulled its contents. He raised a shapely brow, his eyes sparkling. "A dinner invitation? Is it time, Cissy?"

While she was still letting loose occasional huffed chuckles, Narcissa had finally crawled her way over to the chair opposite him and had seated herself. He remembered the buttoned-up, prim woman he had met, thinking with affection that the vivacious, smiling creature before him had opened herself up so much. To the world, to him. While he was taking in her laugh-rumpled suit and exhausted slouch, he knew he was doing the right thing.

"He asked about you, said he wanted to meet you. I told him I'd bring _my_ beau if he would bring _his_." She reached out, taking his larger hand in hers, and grasped it.

"But will he?" His thumb traced an absent pattern over her knuckles leaving shivers to trail up her arms and down her spine. Narcissa closed her eyes with a wistful smile and leaned back to relax while his hand caressed hers.

"Not a chance, that's why _I_ extended the invitation to Mr. Potter myself."


	10. Chapter 10

Draco slammed another two fingers of sake, cursing under his breath as the subway tile backsplash tilted a bit in his vision directly after. Hands fell upon his sagging shoulders and he jumped, spinning to meet his would-be attacker. The inebriated blond overestimated his speech and lack of balance, however, and ended up falling back, his coccyx meeting the edge of the counter sharply.

"Fuck's sake, Potter!" His manicured fingers grasped his own chest to calm his breathing. Taking in the man before him, Draco wondered if he was made aware yet.

"So I hear Hermione has figured it out?" Harry's emerald stare was bemused but something lay behind the humor. 'Fear,' Draco realized. No, not fear. Insecurity. In all the years they had been acquainted, first as school-aged rivals, then with a tentative sort of armistice between them after the war, and now as partners, Draco had only seen that look a handful of times.

He sighed and stepped closer to the shorter man, arms draped loosely over Harry's shoulders. "Yeah. Kind of fucked up my whole plan for next weekend, if I'm being honest." Harry's own limbs wrapped around Draco's waist, head buried in the former Slytherin Prince's chest to hide his face.

"Next weekend?" the sheer amount of surprise and hope in his boyfriend's voice made Draco's heart pang sweetly. He ran a hand under Harry's jaw, trailing fingers to the other man's chin and raising it to make eye contact. "Why next weekend?"

It was Draco's turn to hide his face, and he turned away slightly. "Ohhhh, no, no, no you don't, Draco Malfoy. What's next weekend?" Harry released his body as Draco twisted away with a mumble. "Wait, what was that?" Harry grabbed Draco's hand before the blond could wander away, spinning and caging him against the opposite counter with hands on either side of Draco's slim body.

"I-" No other words could come out before Harry had surged forward and captured his lips in a sweet kiss. If anyone had told him all those years ago he would be madly in love with Draco Lucius Malfoy, snogging him against the kitchen cupboards, he -well, actually, he probably would have believed it. Stranger things had happened to him after all. None so strange and happy as this, though, because Draco Malfoy wanted to marry him.

"Yes," he nibbled back against supple, kiss-swollen lips. His hands worked under Draco's thighs and lifted him onto the counter, hissing at the friction erupting between them. "Fuck yes."

* * *

Taking advantage of Narcissa's _and guest's_ timely arrival, Hermione waved a finger in a series of Runes, binding a series of spells and charms together to protect the food and make sure the men in the kitchen had their privacy. Lucius' steely gaze met hers and he winked, raising a corner of his mouth in amusement. Feeling bold, Hermione winked back, the low simmer of arousal in her abdomen which had been present for some time flaring once again to life.

A clearing of throat brought her attention to Narcissa and the toe-curlingly handsome man just behind her, taking his companion's cloak. The two women shared a smile and a hug while the men made introductions among themselves. Hermione became aware of eyes on her and she glanced at the men just steps away. She realized with an internal jolt that both were giving her the same look full of appreciation and heat, the thought bittersweet as she only really wanted one set of their eyes gazing as such upon her. Narcissa broke the moment thankfully, releasing the hug and stepping to her plus-one's side, taking his hand in hers and entwining their fingers.

"Hermione, Lucius, _this_ is Henri Boulanger." Hermione moved closer to Lucius, enough the feel his comforting aura at her side, and held out a hand to shake. Roughly five-foot-eleven, Boulanger had a sort of debonair charm about him, a mixture of old-fashioned and slightly naughty. Expecting to shake his hand, Hermione was surprised and a bit flustered when Boulanger bent at the waist and rubbed his thumb along her knuckles followed by his lips. Her flus grew when he winked on his way back to standing, posture impeccable.

Lucius' arm weaving around her shoulders brought her back to reality, his voice and words grounding her and keeping her focused. "We are pleased to meet you, Monsieur Boulanger." The surprisingly muscular arm around her squeezed just slightly and she smiled at the man beside her adoringly, working her own limb around his trim waist.

"Absolutely! Thank you for joining us for dinner!" She added, her eyes twinkling impishly as they met Lucius'. Narcissa squeezed Boulanger's hand, smothering a grin when she felt his responding pressure.

* * *

"Why are you here?" Draco whispered, buttoning his trousers back up. A flash out of the corner of his eye caught his attention _yet again_ and he grinned. Harry Potter was wearing his ring. Harry James _Motherfucking_ Potter was wearing _his_ ring. Harry himself - _his fiance, his fucking fiance_ \- broke Draco's reverie with a low, slow laugh.

"Funny, that. I was invited." Harry tucked himself back into his denims, closing the zip with a quick _shrrk._ "I _thought_ by you." Guilt shot through Draco unexpectedly but Harry just popped his head out the neck of his jumper grinning. "I'm taking the piss, love. But," an absent movement of Harry's hand further disrupted already chaotic raven hair. "If _you_ didn't, who did?"

"My mother," Draco replied, his put-upon groan sounding through the kitchen a moment later.

In the sitting room, four people wore varying masks of awkward shock, Hermione's spells having dropped only minutes before. Narcissa cleared her throat once again. "How nice, Mr. Potter's here."


	11. Chapter 11

Hey, y'all! Coming into the home stretch now. One or two chspters left -MAYBE. Some news, Busting Boulanger is being condensed into one file (I've been adding every chapter to the full version as I complete it, sans author's notes). Hopefully you enjoy this. Devynn, don't be mad. Or at least not madmad. Love you! (I'm so grounded)

Disclaimer: you think I own this? Please. I'd have more reptiles if I did, but I don't.

* * *

Hermione fought a grimace at yet another one of Henri's bad jokes. More lamentable was his obviously fake french accent, his 'th' an over-exaggerated and drawn out 'zee' that made her want to high five him in the jaw. Across from her, Lucius winced into his wine glass, the corners of his eyes creasing visibly. Harry faked a laugh next to her only to break it off into an awkward cough, which made Draco across from him snort and shove a bite of his roasted potatoes into his mouth when Narcissa, seated to her left, looked toward him sharply..

She was aware of Narcissa's besotted stare at her plus-one on Lucius' other side. Her left hand came up to grasp Henri's above the table cloth in a loving manner and Hermione once again reminded herself that she should be happy for her friend. Really. She should. If her happiness resembled a manticore with Irritable Bowel Syndrome and an abscessed tooth, oh bloody well.

' _But he's so_ _fake.'_ Not another thought was able to accompany as the subject of them spoke up.

"Mon ameez, sank you again for 'aving us een your bell mayz-on." Hermione's teeth grit together in irritation. "Ze food eez tress bon. Ze companee eez fantasteek. I only 'ave one complaint."

' _Here we bloody go.'_

"Zat I 'ave not yet asked zee bell femme across from mwah to marry me."

' _What.'_

"What?" Narcissa's shocked gasp came as a near whisper of sound but the room silenced as if she had shouted. "Henri, are you-"

The dusty blonde head of coarsely chopped hair moved quickly as Boulanger's hopeful hazel eyes met Cissa's clear pools. "Yes, mon amoor."

"Y-"

Hermione stood up then, the movement upsetting the heirloom tablecloth when static formed from the accompanying subconscious surge of her magic. "I'm sorry, but who the _hell_ are _you_? You're about as bloody French as I am a goblin with gigantism and a can-do attitude! So exactly _who_ the absolute _fuck_ are you, because Henri Boulanger you are not." She was pointing her wand at him, one hand which was slowly becoming soaked with wine leaning on the table nearly supporting the entire upper half of her body. The man in her crosshairs was pressed back into his cushioned chair, chin up to escape the errant sparks of magic arcing from her the tip of her wand.

All at once, the room exploded into action. Narcissa had both hands on Hermione's shoulders trying to speak into her ear while Harry to her right cast a Stupify at the unknown man. Lucius had his own wand out and trained on the man, sharing looks with Harry in a silent conversation and Draco had come around to wrap his arms around Narcissa's waist, attempting to pull her back from Hermione. With a last burst of strength, Hermione wandlessly Incarceroused the imposter before Draco could clamp a hand over her mouth.

Just as quickly as the motion has started, it stopped as their now-prisoner shouted, "My name is Harrison Wentworth!"

Hermione dropped her wand immediately, hands comically falling numb at her sides. She stumbled, hips grinding painfully against table as Narcissa and Draco fell against her, and her elbows slammed into the dense wood making her hiss.

"Did you say-" Harry's tentative voice asked. Hermione turned her head to stare at him, her mouth opening to contest the man, but her _low-down traitorous friend_ Silenced her more quickly than she could utter a syllable. _Harry bloody Potter_ was less than terrified by the glower on her face, as he rolled his eyes and jutted his chin back toward their "guest."

Whose face was doing the most interesting expressions. Somewhere between what could only be labelled as Constipated Postal Worker and Tear Gas Test Subject, Boulanger's slightly crooked nose straightened and his overly wide jaw line smoothed out, a dark five o'clock shadow adding a rugged look to handsomely dimpled cheeks. Hermione's stomach dropped like a lead zeppelin. She knew that face. Knew it very well, in fact, having seen it just the week before when she had dragged Lavender, Pansy, Ginny, Luna, and Hannah out for a girls' night.

"Harrison Wentworth," he moved to scratch the back of his head sheepishly, seeming to forget his arms were still bound at his sides. Instead, he waved awkwardly, the movement more charming than anything as he bent his elbow and wiggled his digits. A flash went off and the room turned to glare at Harry who now had his Wizarding camera out.

"What?" Her oldest friend's voice had reached an octave only canines could hear while his face maintained an innocent air. "It's not every day Hermione ties a movie star to a chair! Ginny is be _so_ -" His glee was cut off with a yelp as Lucius took a cue from the curly-haired hellcat gaping from Draco's grip around her middle and soundly smacked The Chosen One upside the head.

To Harry's abused pout, the imposing Malfoy patriarch shrugged. "I've wanted to do that for actual _ages_."

* * *

"Goodnight! Don't forget-" the sound of Draco's door slamming shut, the pictures beside it rattling with the force, cutting her off. The sound of a body hitting the door came just seconds after, then silence. 'Good, he remembered.'

A huff of laughter escaped her nose in a quick burst of humor before her face settled into a blank mask. She rolled her neck and shoulders, a knot having formed at the base of her skull threatening a migraine. Hermione sighed a bit, looking around the dining room, the dishes from what was possibly the _weirdest_ dinner party in the history of dinner parties still sitting half-eaten on the table. The tablecloth would have to be treated before she went to bed or she could kiss that goodbye. Synthetic fibers never did take well to charming.

Her wand waved the dishes to the kitchen, collecting in a basin and levitating in to sit on the counter. After filling the sink, Hermione moved the vase and candlesticks to the side and grabbed up the nearly unsalvageable tablecloth. Tears came unexpectedly as she took in the stain.

"Miss Granger?" She spun, wand raised in one hand, the other clutching the fabric to her chest. His blonde hair was unbound, falling like a platinum river around his face. Concern ran through his steely eyes and he stepped closer, hands gently grasping her shoulders as he looked deeply into her swimming brown orbs. Her wand arm lowered almost instantly. She didn't want to wonder why."Hermione, whatever is wrong?"

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Instead, Hermione looked balefully at the cloth she still held in a desperate grip. A sob wracked her out of nowhere. Immediately, his arms came around her, Lucius Malfoy's chest catching the rest as she lamented the ruination of the tablecloth from her parents' wedding.

The migraine that had been threatening earlier bloomed with full force and she barely had time to tear herself from his strong, comforting embrace, feeling the perfectly cooked meal and alcohol trying to make an appearance. With seconds to spare, she ran into the kitchen to vomit loudly into the garbage can under the sink. The hand not clutching the edge of the counter waved blindly, attempting a nonverbal wandless Accio with no success.

Finally, she had a moment to breathe between waves of pain and nausea. "Acc-" her head lifted higher trying to escape the smell of her sick in the bin. A lump threatened to rise in her throat, and Hermione swallowed it down as best she could. "Accio migraine kit." Another lump couldn't be swallowed down and she gagged again, stomach roiling.

A sharp thud registered in the background of her mind and she became aware of a hand that was holding her hair back. "What do you need?" He asked quietly. "The pink one or the mint green one?" She heaved again and tapped the hand that was still clinging to the counter twice.

The vial was tapped onto her shoulder as her nausea abated again for the moment. "T-thank yo-hou," Hermione gasped to him, promptly uncapping and gulping down the mint green vial. The rest of the upheaval in her gut started to calm seconds later, but the pain at the base of her neck had now extended around her head and to her temples.

"Stay right here, I'll be back," Lucius whispered in her ear, and she nodded, clenching her eyes closed from the harsh kitchen lighting, casting a nonverbal and wandless mouth freshening charm to remove the remnants of her sick from her mouth. It felt like ages had passed, lights bursting behind her lids with every beat of her heart. A whimper came unbidden. "I'm back, my dear," his voice sounded next to her ear again, his hands gently grasping her shoulders to walk her. "Come with me, it's okay."

Barely able to open her eyes despite the now dimmed lighting, Hermione grit her teeth and tried to straighten. A sure grasp on her bicep turned her into a now familiar firm chest, his arm wrapping around her fully to lead her into the sitting room and to the couch. Lucius laid her back against the cushions, and placed a handkerchief he had cooled with a charm over her eyes.

"What do you need?" His whisper came from nearby, and she realized he was likely crouched on her carpet, the thought of which was both oddly amusing - painfully so - and a bit out of this world, and every other she could consider at the moment. Hermione still couldn't answer, the words feeling like a rock in her throat, making a small noise instead. Cool, limber fingers, began massaging just below her thumb at the juncture of the wrist which was dangling off the edge of her sofa. Already, some of the overly full feeling in her head was receding, enough to be able to listen to his low baritone.

"When I was travelling in the United States last year, I met a couple who specialized in pressure points. The wife, an older Asian woman, taught me a few things to help relieve tension and headaches. There are two areas on the wrist alone which can help, though how it holds up against a migraine like yours, I do not know." Hermione still didn't feel well enough to speak, but she did hum in response to try and convey how she was feeling.

"I suspect it may not aid as well as your remedies, but I will do what I can. I believe I have seen enough of your pain for my lifetime." Her breath caught and she turned her head toward his voice, eyes still covered with the charmed linen. Silence permeated the air between them while she concentrated on his movements. Finally, she felt she could say something without her throat seizing.

"Where are some other points?" Mentioning their shared past seemed tactless, rude even. He had the tone of regret in his voice, his fingers gentle even as the memory Lucius mentioned was not. Her voice was raspy with her illness in the kitchen and disuse since, giving it a husky quality which, if the fabric weren't still over her eyes, had made Lucius gulp. Elegantly, of course, and not at all the loud, comical sound the males she had been surrounded with all her life had made.

"Well," he began, moving his fingers from her dainty wrist to the outside of her hand, his index finger trailing a line from her thumb to a slight indentation she had never noticed until Lucius Malfoy had touched it with delicacy.. "This point correlates, I believe, to a lung position, as does the last one. The trick is to keep a deep, probing pressure while one massages."

Hells bells. It seemed even with a migraine, his deep voice saying words like 'deep' and 'probing' could positively drench her knickers. He massaged that specific spot for a few moments, paying close attention to her disarmingly tiny hands. Without warning, his slightly calloused hands were gone, and Hermione quickly removed the handkerchief to see where he had moved to, not even realizing the worst of her visual sensory pain was gone. At her feet, the cushion dipped suddenly and she pushed herself onto her elbows.

"This," Lucius continued, making eye contact with his vulpine-sharp gaze and laying his entire palm sideways on the inside of her leg just above her ankle as though measuring, "Is a spot specifically designed to alleviate any lingering abdominal discomfort as well as migraine pain." She felt the rough skin on the side of his thumb applying pressure at a spot in line with her ankle, exactly a palm-width from the jut of the bone. Whether the contents of her kit had finally kicked in, or his hands were made of magic all their own, Hermione suddenly found herself in a different type of discomfort, the migraine as distant of a memory as she would like her undergarments to be.

She shifted her legs slightly to alleviate the pressure building at her core - _Nimue's nipples, don't let her come right there_ \- and Lucius raised his eyes and tilted his head to regard the slightly disheveled young woman lain before him. Hermione cleared her throat, face hot under his perusal, and prayed he wasn't thinking she was some sort of wanton harlot for what was becoming a rather obvious attraction. His hand was joined by the other, both of which moved now to just below her kneecaps in the depressions on her outer shins. This time, he said nothing, simply watching her face while Hermione bit her lip and tried to keep still. Lucius must have seen something in her reactions because he was suddenly hovering over her, thumbs now just behind her jawbone under her ear, making her gasp soundlessly.

"This is the last one I know of," he said finally, barely uttering the words yet leaving the impression of them upon her lips in the air between them. Mercury met sable as their eyes connected, and Hermione shifted her thighs again beneath his weight, not even noticing that the motion had placed his hips between them. "Feeling any better, my dear?"

HIs question was breathed against her bottom lip, the only answer he received an unintelligent whimper of, "Yuh-huh."

"Thank Merlin." He growled before surging forward to capture her lips.


	12. Chapter 12

Finally! I have had the **worst** writers block with this. I had asked myself as well as the group if it was acceptable to call this complete without the planned chapter. Ultimately, though, I never deleted it because it didn't feel right. Here we are now, and I think I may have figured out what to do. I hope so.

Enjoy this last chapter. For those of you who know me, I have a lot of WIPs open, so a completed fic is pretty cool.

Standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

It had begun, as many a great things do, with a cup of tea. Navigating their divorce, Hermione had convinced Narcissa to accept what little she truly wanted from Lucius while still keeping what was important to her as a reinstated Black. From the vaults to the housing, she left no loopholes open for Lucius' barrister to utilize. 'They'd be well-suited,' the soon-to-be Ms. Black considered before she could even really register the thought, only realizing it upon the shock of having thought it at all. Narcissa straightened in her seat while Miss Granger moved to her bookshelves to find a tome.

"Miss Granger, while you look, is there somewhere I might refresh myself?" To her credit, Hermione made no mention of the abrupt question, and directed her attention to an unobtrusive but nicely decorated washroom just behind where the blonde was seated. "Ah, thank you."

Once inside, Narcissa sagged against the wall, the mirror across from her showing how pale she was. Lucius and Miss Granger? She swallowed heavily, making eye contact with her reflection. Filing for divorce hadn't been because of a lack of love, but the abundance of it. He was her best friend, and she cared for him, but together, they were too mired in the past to ever be truly happy. She needed the freedom as much as he did. She just needed a chance to know that she could have a great love, and wanted the same for him. But her barrister? Would this be considered a conflict of interest, and if so, affect the terms of her divorce?

'No,' she thought. 'Likely not.' As she and Lucius were parting as good friends and only needed to finalise terms, Narcissa knew any fraternising would be after the dust had settled. The brunette was a naturally pretty girl, an understated and easy beauty. ' A Girl Next Door type,' Draco had called her; wholesome and sweet, with a beauty which shown from the inside out. She was intelligent and goal-oriented, _clever_ , and even more passionate than usual when a subject interested her.

The more Narcissa considered that terrible thought which had laid it's roots and begun to sprout - _Lucius and Hermione could be good together_ \- the better it had begun to sound.

By the time she left Hermione's office that day, her plan would be set into motion.

* * *

"Yuh-huh."

"Thank Merlin." He growled before surging forward to capture her lips. Hermione shivered with the pressure of Lucius' soft, slightly chapped lips. Her hands, previously rested upon her abdomen at the start of Lucius' acupressure experiment, had moved to her sides when he had leaned above her. Now, her digits were carding through his loose blond strands, scratching at his scalp and tugging in time with the movement of their tongues. Lucius had one of his own larger hands entangled in the kinky hair at the base of her skull while the other massaged her hip and - Oh! Oh that felt just decadent. His thumb pressed lightly, rubbing with expert pressure, upon the raised bone of her clothed pelvis, the sensation hardening her nipples and making her squirm.

Hermione hissed suddenly, breaking their passion to react to the sudden pain in the center of her back. The wizard above her pulled away with concern, a fine brow arched in curiosity. She pushed gently at his chest, half whining in a whisper while she sat up. "It's that damned spring from earlier."

The wizard shifted back to sitting and huffed incredulously. "Even when he's not in the room…" The rest of his sentence went unspoken, but Hermione got the gist. Draco Malfoy had unwittingly cockblocked them both.

"I am seriously going to stab your son, Lucius." His responding low chuckle reinvigorated the goose pimples which had plagued her earlier with every surreptitious glance of his across the dinner table. Shifting, Hermione sat up fully beside him and allowed her feet to touch the floor.

"I think, darling, this may be a sign," she felt more than saw his lips speak, the puffs of wine-sweet air punctuating his words. Her own mouth trembled a bit, want and the fear of rejection drawing her lower lip between her teeth only to be popped out by his thumb. "Please don't do that, Hermione." Lucius' voice had transformed from amused to rough with her simple action.

Deciding to be a bit daring, Hermione chanced a kiss to his thumb, maintaining eye contact through her lashes. The sight of his dilated pupils nearly drowning out his grey eyes sent wet heat through her. Emboldened, she opened her lips, scraping his thumbprint along her bottom teeth with a sensual nip. "If this is a sign, Lucius, perhaps it is simply that we should relocate?" No sooner had she said the words than she as greeted with the stomach-twist of apparition.

* * *

Good Lord, the man could kiss like a dream. Their landing had, for the first time in Hermione's life, been fluid. Or at least, she thought it had been. Somewhere between arrival and the current moment, she had been shoved up against the nearest wall and her legs manhandled around a trim, masculine waist. Not one to be cowed, she gave as good as she got. Which was really, _really_ good.

His lips moseyed over her jaw, walking hot kisses inch by inch along the bone to reach the spot just below her ear while she tugged his hair and ground herself against him. The thrust which responded to the roll of her hips… _oh, Merlin…_

"Lucius, actually." His voice rough with want, only pausing in his journey down her neck long enough to answer her unintelligible breathing sigh of questioning. "My name," one hand ran up the length of her thigh to finger at the hem of her party dress - that sweet, blessed last minute frock from the Gods above, "is Lucius. I expect you to say it… now." His hand delved forward to cup and massage her mound.

"Luciiuuuuusssss…" she hissed, craning her neck back and clenching her eyes closed with the sensations rushing through her. His chuckled darkly - a deep, throbbing sound which travelled the same path as the heat curling down her spine.

"I wonder what other noises you'll make." His mouth was on her clavicle now, nipping along the fine bones and giving her goose pimples their own goose pimples.

Hermione couldn't locate enough breath to do more than rasp her challenge to the ceiling. "Find out." She was extremely confused when her back no longer had the support of the wall but moments later found herself horizontal on a brocade duvet. Her tasteful party dress laid bunched at her middle, bra flung somewhere behind Lucius whose mouth was on her breast and fingers were dancing a foxtrot over her hips with her knickers in tow. Tomorrow she would worry about the stretched sweetheart neckline and the ruined satin, but tonight she could think of nothing more than tactics and sensations.

Tactics again, as she wondered how to get the thin yet surprisingly burly man onto his back for the fifth time. His mouth, once thought to only be able to pronounce sneers and bloodline epithets, had done a remarkably good job of derailing her train of thought with the open-mouthed suckles placed on her ribcage.

Finally her moment had come, as he raised himself slightly up above her to unbutton the first - _the bloody first?_ \- of the tiny black buttons keeping his shirt closed. Hermione shimmied her hips lower, raising one knee and working her other leg around him for leverage, and with a quick motion her former self-defense instructor would have been proud of (probably under different circumstances), flipped them. Her patience was on a thin tether already, but the sight of fine hair peeking from his neckline snapped it, and the rest of his buttons went flying through the room as she tore his dress shirt open.

The darkness of the room kept her from seeing his reaction, but the bobbing of the steel rod between her thighs told her he appreciated her forward attitude. Within the breath of a second, Lucius was sitting up and taking a breast into his mouth again while she ground her warm wetness against his still-clothed cock. Hands wandered everywhere - her hair, his belt - and finally, he was sinking deeply within her.

"While I - uhn - lament that I - fuck, you're sopping - haven't taken the time to-"

"Lucius?" she panted, still astride him while he kept a smooth rhythm. "Shut up and fuck me." She smirked at his lusty groan before finding herself face-down on the mattress. The very familiar scented mattress. Hermione successfully shoved that and every other thought away when his large hands found her hips and Lucius slid into her again. And again. Ohhhhhhh and again.

* * *

"Is this-?" Hermione took in the room around her, having woken to an errant ray of sunlight beaming directly onto her face. Framed quidditch posters lined one slate-coloured wall. A Slytherin banner hung over the headboard above her. A desk to her left with discarded sweets wrappers and chewed upon quills.

"Draco's room at the Manor? Yes. Consider it revenge for his actions last night." He sounded smug. A glance to Lucius' face confirmed it. The brunette burrowed deeper into his embrace and smiled against his chest, turning into full blown giggles the further she considered it.

Roughly a year later, when Witch Weekly and The Prophet ran joint stories of their romance a week before their wedding, the duo had gotten a laugh from the shared title.

 _ **Busting Boulanger**_

* * *

Final A/N:

C'est finis. Fucking finally. Probably wasn't the culmination y'all hoped for, but, ehhh, whatever.

I will extend this challenge, however -

Write for the BB universe. If you're inspired by plunnies as a result of this fic, if you want to expand upon it, write for it, tag my pasty arse (either by giving props in your summary or in you A/Ns so people know where the origin came from), and go for it. I, personally, am done with this and have no plans to continue, but you should feel free to go ahead and explore.

Thank you for all the love and support you all at ffnet and facebook have given. It's honestly the only thing that kept this story going. I fucking love you guys.


End file.
